


Blood Play

by MCalhen



Category: Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Genre: BDSM, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCalhen/pseuds/MCalhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albel took his gauntlet off for bed...most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Play

“Why’re you wearing that?” Fayt stared at Albel’s gauntlet. Albel always removed it before bathing and bed. After sparring, both of them smelled no better than any of the other men on the training grounds, and the two of them had stripped and bathed when they came home. Albel often left it off in the evenings if he had no reason to put it on. Fayt remembered a time when he would seldom take it off while in the presence of others.

Albel twisted his arm into different poses as he examined it. After a minute, he smirked.

“Come to bed,” said Fayt. He almost grabbed for his lover, but when the quilt slipped off his shoulders and the sharp cold in the room pierced through his sweater and shirt, he huddled beneath the coverlet once more. “You’ll have to find your own bed if you wear that.”

“I don’t plan on sleeping yet,” said Albel, lifting one leg off the floor and throwing it over Fayt’s torso. The mattress springs squealed as he placed his weight on the bed. “Fool.”

Fayt had noticed a change in Albel’s language. Albel had taken care to weed out some of his common insults, but that one remained. He laced it with affection reserved only for Fayt. But when he said it this time, Fayt couldn’t help but think he might be a fool after all for living with Albel in Airyglyph. When passing through, he had dealt with the ice and wind, but he had always been on the move, often not staying more than a night or two. As a semi-permanent resident, the chill had seeped into his bones. No amount of hot baths by the hearth or nights spooning with Albel under quilts and furs could warm him long.

But Fayt felt heat rise to his face as Albel leaned toward him. The claws of the gauntlet touched his cheek. Albel could only rotate the limb from the elbow with what was left of his arm, but the “fingers” were locked into place. 

Albel had learned to use them like blades against Fayt’s soft skin.

Fayt did not flinch or move. His eyes stared into Albel’s. If he didn’t like what Albel was doing, he could throw him off with his legs. 

Two of the claws hooked into the skin. Not enough to break it, but enough to hurt. Albel was rubbish with words, but he knew actions. He had military discipline to know when not to go too far with torture.

He knew when to give pain only for pleasure.

Fayt flipped Albel to the other side of the bed. Blankets were caught between them, but Fayt ripped them out of the way and tossed them to the floor. He removed his sweater and shirt despite the cold and rested his palms on Albel’s bare chest.

Albel chuckled in way suitable for his title as “Albel the Wicked”. His claw rested on Fayt’s shoulder for a moment before he swiped. The metal dug into Fayt’s flesh, breaking skin. The damage was not much worse than if Fayt had been scratched by a large cat. He had taken much worse in battle—even in sparring, though Albel received more damage from Fayt’s blade than the other way around. 

But the searing pain and the pin-drops of blood welling to the surface made Fayt’s heart quicken. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he arched his back, fingers tracing along Albel’s abdomen.

When he looked down, Albel was licking his blood from the tips of his claws.

“It’s clean and sterile,” promised Albel with red lips. “I made sure of that.”

“I know,” said Fayt between gasps. He reached for the gauntlet, and without any pull from Albel, placed it across his belly. “Gentle,” he whispered.

Albel raked his blades over the flesh, never tearing but leaving behind small trails of Fayt’s blood along the surface of his skin. Each stroke went lower and lower, across his abdomen. Fayt moaned and clutched the fabric of Albel’s skirt in one hand. 

He climaxed before Albel reached his erection, which had pushed out of the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“You got it all over me, you fool,” said Albel with a scowl. 

“We’ll see who’s the fool,” said Fayt, slumping over Albel. “You’re next.” He grabbed Albel’s gauntlet and pinned it to the mattress. “I’ll make the scratches you gave me look like nothing when I’m through with you.”

Albel smirked. “Do your best, fool.” 

“I always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t normally write bloodplay but it works for this pairing. And this is probably one of the few times Fayt is in any way submissive, because I still say (after all these years): Fayt’s the dom.


End file.
